The next morning Tuen commenced her simple round of duties, in which she
was instructed by the women of the inner court. At first her work was
only to draw water, help with the washing and do the drudgery, and her
lot was often hard, but it did not escape the watchful Wang that she was
quick and willing, so one day she said to her:
"Tuen, there is much spinning to be done, and if your fingers are very
nimble I will teach you to manage the wheel. But mind you, if you are
all thumbs you will have to stay where you are."
So that was the way it came about that Tuen was soon seated at the
little spinning-wheel, with its three spindles, pulling out
interminable lengths of cotton thread from the fleecy rolls in her hand,
and above the soft, insistent buzzing of the wheel she could hear the
voices of the others as they talked among themselves. She listened
attentively to all they said, as she worked, with both feet, the treadle
of her singing wheel, and her face was flushed with pride at the
importance of her new position. She sat silent, never once raising her
eyes from her work, but in all the Flowery Kingdom there was not that
day a prouder girl, and she felt so grateful to Wang that when dark
came, and she had to put up her work, she could not help from giving her
a good hug.
"I like this so much better than the kitchen labor," she whispered, "and
I intend to work harder than I ever did in all my life. Only let me stay
here, dear Wang."
And when Wang promised, she went to sleep so happy.
Thus the weeks went by, and Tuen's face grew full, and her arms round
and plump, and she forgot all about what it was to be hungry, and was
quite satisfied. She still often thought about her dear ones, but she no
longer wept to see them as she had once done, and in place of crying
because she would never live with them again, she commenced to think of
them as so rich and fine in their own home, and all because of her.
Once as they all sat spinning, a young woman said dolefully:
"Oh how I wish I had little feet! Every one knows that I am but a common
laborer as soon as they see me coming."
"The Viceroy's wife has such pretty ones," Wang answered. "They are not
more than two inches long."
"Such feet are not for the poor like us," sighed the first speaker.
"Why, mine must be over ten inches long. I don't suppose any one will
ever marry me."
"Just look what long ones Tuen has and be consoled," another said
laughingly. "Surely, the child's growth has been in one direction only."
"She had better bind a piece of cloth tight around them every night, so
they wont grow while she is asleep," someone suggested.
"I don't want little feet," Tuen answered, for the first time taking
part in the conversation. "I am a Tartar, and they never bind their
feet. My mother told me so."
"What stupidity!" said the woman nearest Tuen contemptuously.
"No it is not stupidity," the girl replied firmly. "My father was a very
learned man--he belonged to the literati--" looking proudly around her
to see the effect of this announcement, "and he said the custom of
binding the feet became the fashion because an Empress was once born
with club feet, and then all the officers of the court wrapped up their
daughters so that the poor Empress would not feel bad when she looked at
her own.
"Your father must be very smart to tell you such a likely tale as that,"
one of her companions retorted sarcastically. "It's a wonder he did not
become a story-teller upon the street, for surely all would have flocked
to listen to him."
"I once heard the Viceroy tell the mistress that the men of the country
originated the idea of binding the women's feet, so they would not go
gadding about," Wang interposed. "It truly is a good way to keep them at
home."
"I bound the feet of my little girl," said one of the women, "and oh,
how she did cry. But I didn't mind that, for I was determined that when
she grew up she should have a husband, and no man wants a woman with big
feet. And it's better never to be born than to be born a girl, any way,
and it's also better to have never been born than not to have a
husband. She would not sleep at night, but lay sobbing that they hurt
her so, and begging me to take the bandage off. Of course I did not
listen to her, and had she lived her feet would have been as small
perhaps as those of the Viceroy's wife; but when she died every one said
I ought to be glad to get rid of a girl, and that there would be one
mouth less to feed."
"Were you glad?" asked Tuen.
The woman shook her head.
"No," she said. "I loved her if she was a girl."
"My father and my mother both loved me," Tuen told them with a sigh,
"and they would not have sold me if they had not been hungry. Then they
did not want to do it, but I made them."
"And you are a lot better off," Wang said.
"I would have rather been poor all my life and stayed with them," was
Tuen's answer.
"She is a strange child," one of them whispered to her neighbor. "She
says such very stupid things."
"Talking of story-tellers," cried one of them, "reminds me that once on
the Festival of the Dead as I went to the hills to worship at the grave
of my husband's ancestors, I heard a man tell such a wonderful story. If
I had had any cash I would have given it to him. It was all about a
great lady whose husband pretended to be dead and afterwards came back
to life and cut her head off. He said he knew a great many delightful
tales that he had read in books, and I would have loved to listen to him
all day, but my husband said a woman could not understand such things."
"Oh I would love to read," Tuen breathed eagerly, and the women laughed
at this speech and said she was truly foolish. Tuen blushed and hung
her head, and after this she was silent.
* * * * * * *
A year had passed since Tuen came to live at the Viceroy's yâmen, and in
that time she had grown taller, fairer, and now was budding into
womanhood, or at least so it was considered in that land, where girls of
twelve years old are thought mature enough to marry. She had become a
great favorite with every one in the palace on account of her amiable
disposition and kindness to every one, and even the Viceroy's wife had
forgotten her former prejudice and took a kindly interest in her. Wang,
seeing that her fingers were nimble and her hand steady, had long ago
promoted her to a place before the embroidery frame, and was delighted
to see how skilful the girl was with the needle. She taught Tuen to
embroider on delicate silks and crêpes the most beautiful flowers in
nature's garden, and many strange creeping things that were said to
live at the bottom of the sea and turn yellow if the sun shone on them,
so they must always be worked in glittering gilt thread, bright as the
sunshine. And such charming colors as she day by day painted in with her
needle! No wonder that finally she made many garments for little
Tung-li, the only child of the proud Viceroy, and gorgeous robes they
were to behold. At last Wang's pride in her pupil caused her to suggest
that Tuen should make a tunic for the Viceroy as a present on the coming
New Year, for it is the Chinese custom to exchange gifts at that season.
So Tuen went to work on a piece of lustrous purple satin, and scattered
over it half-open pink buds, and crimson blossoms, and yellow flowers
strung together with gold thread, and upon the breast of it she worked
the golden lily. Very proud was she of her handiwork when the last
stitch had been taken and she held it up before Wang's admiring gaze,
and truly it was a robe fit to be worn by the Emperor himself.
"How can I ever repay you, dear Wang," Tuen cried, "for teaching me to
do this? If it only brings me favor with the Viceroy I shall be so
happy!"
And Wang, not understanding the secret Tuen had locked within her heart,
answered half laughing, but perhaps with a grain of seriousness under
the jest:
"By having me for your maid, little one, when you become a great lady."
"Indeed, indeed I will," the girl answered heartily, "and for even more
than my maid. You shall be my friend, my mother."
And this promise she did not forget.